


Before the Rise/After the Fall

by thewidowlaufeyson



Category: Hiddleston - Fandom, High-Rise (2015)
Genre: Actor Tom Hiddleston, Angst and Tragedy, Drama & Romance, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lust, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Smut, Villain Tom Hiddleston, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewidowlaufeyson/pseuds/thewidowlaufeyson
Summary: The OFC, Samantha Swire ("Sam" for short), is an American transplant living on a Grecian island with her husband.  Through first-person narrative, she explains to the reader how she came to live there, and how Dr. Robert Laing figured into that journey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a typical Robert Laing fan fic. My Laing is very loosely based on the character played by Tom Hiddleston in High Rise, and this incarnation exists before and after the events that occur in that film. I have taken significant liberties with him by creating a prequel/sequel from the first-person perspective of the OFC, Sam Swire/Charlie Thomas. It's also worth pointing out that the events in this story do not take place during the 70's (as the film did). As Ballard's novel was originally a dystopian work of fiction authored during that period, I saw no need to constrict this story to that era since dystopian fiction can obviously occur at any point in time. This will feel more like present day (with references to the OFC's coming of age in the 1980's).
> 
> The incident that takes place in the film will be referenced as an international news item relative to a failed social experiment that took a very deadly turn (almost akin to a cult).
> 
> The following is a simple prologue ....

It’s weird to be thinking about murder charges and extradition while you’re drinking coffee and gazing out over the Aegean Sea from the roof of your traditional cave home on a Grecian island (that’s a lot to unpack, I know – trust me, I’ll get you there). I mean, come on…who thinks about shit like that when there are so many other BETTER things to focus on – like the sound of the ocean, or the morning sun as it starts to lift over the horizon and cast a soft glow off the smattering of pink, white and blue topped villas staggered down the side of the mountain. I could be taking in the quiet sounds of the town as it rouses from slumber - far different from the obnoxious blaring noises of a metropolitan city that never sleeps (god do I NOT miss that). OR I could forget about the coffee, go back inside and gently fuck my sleeping husband awake (his preferred way of waking up, the sudden throb between my legs urging me to pursue that option). 

But instead, here I am, taking measured sips of a black, bitter liquid, the mug warm in my hands as I mull over how the two of us ended up here and, more importantly, how to keep us here without … incident. Because there certainly was no direct line to getting here. I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide “oh hey, I’m gonna get married, it's gonna be to THAT guy, and we're gonna go live in Greece. Peace out, bitches.” And amazingly, despite EVERYTHING I’m about to tell you, I don’t know that I would have WANTED that path to be THAT easy. Like the song says, “…you gotta get up every morning, take your heavy load, and you gotta keep going down that long black road.” Black is right. Because sometimes you have to go through the hard stuff to get to the good stuff. Although, granted, not many people’s “hard stuff” involves changing their name and leaving their home country to aid and abet someone escaping numerous potential murder charges. But that’s precisely what I did. And this is why...


	2. In The Beginning There Was....Laing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...in which our OFC (Sam) meets Dr. Laing.

I’m just gonna throw it out there: I have really, really, EXTRAORDINARILY bad luck with men, which is how I ended up working for a law firm in London. I was escaping from a man, trying to start over and do something completely different. So instead of doing an “eat, pray, love” thing (because honestly, who the hell does that shit for any other reason aside from selling a book??), I applied for and was granted a transfer from the American law firm that had employed me for almost a decade. London was the only spot available. I took it. I had no reason to stay in America and you know?? Fuck it. It was time for a change. Despite the excitement of being transplanted through a job to another country, my situation is hardly front-page news, and certainly not the most interesting part of this story. But every story has a beginning, and this one is mine. It’s how I met Laing. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The London firm is smaller than its American sister, but my boss - Stephen Earnshaw - definitely doesn't make small bucks. He's one of the most sought-after divorce attorneys in the city, but you'd never know it to look at him: average build, generically aging features, and the only man i know who could actually carry off a fucking bow tie on a daily basis. Very no-nonsense on a professional level, organized and whiplash smart, but kind. Don't let any of that fool you, though. The man is shrewd as fuck and just as brutal in a courtroom. And he practically lived there, so it was my job to keep his part of the practice organized and running smoothly. Quite often, that involved making sure he had everything he needed at his fingertips - from a fresh change of shirts in his office, mouthwash in his desk drawer, and a supply of his favorite coffee blend. It was the coffee that had me racing around on the morning in question. I usually ordered it from a service, but they were out of stock, so i had to make a quick trip to the grocer on my way in. While there, i picked up pastries, fruit and made a special effort to pick up the receptionist's favorite muffin (answering phones at a law firm is a goddamn thankless job, so small pleasures go a long way when you're in that position). As i arrived at the office, a downpour decided to make things a touch more interesting just as i was getting out of my car. There was no way of avoiding the inevitable baptism i was about to experience. Stephen had a new client coming in early for a divorce that had all the makings of a nasty mess - some doctor with a social-climbing, adulterous wife. I didn't exactly have time to sit in my car and wait out a deluge. As quickly as i could, i exited the vehicle, rain beginning to soak my clothes in just the short time it took me to dash around to the passenger side, where I opened the door and snatched the bags. After slamming the door closed, I suddenly found myself staring at an absolute tower of a man in a dark trench coat, holding a large black golf umbrella above me. A faint scent of musk radiated off him, a devilishly alluring aroma, the kind that could easily lead you astray.

"May i help you with that," he asked, his elegant British voice a soft, growling baritone suggestive of a Bond villain. The indecently handsome features of his face were those i was certain many women had seen between their legs. Shocked by the assault of my own graphic thoughts, I had no idea why i was suddenly imagining this stranger pleasuring random women with a voracious mouth and tongue, or why the idea of it was sending my heart into my throat. Perhaps it was the way his blue eyes were cutting through me with the intensity of a hot, merciless blade, prickling the fine hairs on the back of my neck. i felt that hateful little nub between my legs begin to pulse with desire. Never in my lifetime had i experienced such an instant, overwhelming need. Did he know?? I didn't have time to find out. 

Glancing away, I responded with a curt, "I think i can manage, thanks" before escaping from beneath the umbrella and heading for the door. The rain was absolutely drenching me, and I would look a wreck by the time i made it to the 20th floor, but i didn't care. I needed the cleansing downpour to drown out my lust and wash away my sin. I didn't know then that "sin" would eventually take on a new name for me. >

*****************

"Dr. Laing is here for Mr. Earnshaw." 

The receptionist's voice resounded through the speakerphone in my office, spurring panic in me over the idea of greeting a client in such a state of disarray, especially a new client, and a doctor at that. Doctors were the worst of the divorce lot - arrogant, wealthy, often demanding pricks who played God on a daily basis and wasted no time correcting you if you made the unforgivable error of accidentally calling them "Mr." It was rare to run across one who didn't make you root for the soon-to-be-ex-wife in the divorce. But despite my obvious disdain for this brand of high-paying client, I knew Stephen always expected me to make the first impression on his behalf. I was the ambassador for his practice, the first point of contact that conveyed volumes about the level of service the client would receive. And so I had to make sure that i was at least presentable enough on this occasion despite Mother Nature's best attempt to sabotage me. 

I withdraw the compact mirror I kept in my top desk drawer, giving myself a quick appraisal. Makeup was still intact and natural without being overdone, and my caramel blonde tresses were still damp (although i had managed to pull them back into a low, sleek pony to at least conceal the rain-thrashed mess they had been when i entered the 10th floor offices). Upon putting the mirror away, i stood, smoothing a hand down the front of my sleeveless Kelly green sheath - the one that nicely showcased my toned, petite frame, but was still darkly spotted with evidence of rain. FUCK! That'll teach me to go around without a goddamn umbrella, i thought, consoling myself with the reality that it would have been difficult for anyone to avoid getting wet in that abruptly sudden monsoon. And then i remembered him - the eye-fucker in the trench coat with the umbrella, the way his long fingers wrapped around the handle with a firm, steady grasp. God, those fingers - it somehow seemed criminal, so many delicious inches of pleasure, just on those hands....

"Sam?" The receptionist's voice seemed louder than a car horn, blaring through the speaker, yanking me from an oncoming collision with the Filthy Thought Train on which Eye-Fucker and I were the only two passengers. If i never saw that man again, at least I'd have something to think about late at night when the urge struck and i needed a quick release. 

"I'll be right out," I called back, realizing with a hot blush that my panties were now as damp as those spots on my dress. What the fuck is wrong with me, I thought to myself, as I took a deep breath to refocus before heading out to fetch Dr. Laing......


	3. First Impressions

When I rounded the corner into the lobby, I spotted him instantly. He was leaning against the wall rather than sitting, using a rather elegant set of fingers to leaf dispassionately through one of our firm brochures. My eyes traveled from those fingers to the wet trenchcoat hanging on the halltree to the umbrella propped against the wall beside it. My heart started pounding heavily inside my chest. HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT. It was the guy who tried to rescue me from a rainstorm, whose fingers had made me wet without ever touching me. This entire morning was turning into a waking nightmare. Quickly, I gathered my composure, clearing my throat to grab his attention. He looked up from the brochure, and upon sight of me, instant recognition danced in his eyes while the hint of a smirk played with his mouth.

  
“Dr. Laing?” I moved toward him, desperately trying to manage a cool demeanor as I extended my hand. He put the brochure down, meeting me halfway, taking my hand and shaking it with a firm grasp. I would have been lying if I said I didn’t like the way it felt, his touch immediately throwing my imagination into high gear again as I I considered all the ways that smooth, warm grasp would feel clutching my ass and OH MY GOD what the actual FUCK?!?!? Quickly, I redirected back to the actual job i was sent to do, which was not supposed to involve mentally fucking the new client. My voice was surprisingly steady as I introduced myself. “I’m Samantha Swire, Mr. Earnshaw’s assistant.”  
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Swire.”

  
The drawl of my last name on his lips aroused a sudden need to hear that voice in my ear, demanding that i pleasure him. Parched by my own lust, my throat dry, I swallowed hard, managing to quietly eke out a one-word response. “Likewise.” I released his hand and gestured towards the hallway as I began to walk in that direction. “If you’ll follow me, please …”

  
He did. And I was aware of every step he took, and the fact that he was following much closer behind me than most clients. When we were about to round the corner to Stephen’s door, I intentionally stopped and turned, nearly colliding with him, startling myself so that i actually threw up both hands, my palms within a hair's breadth of his chest. I could feel the heat radiating off him, his musky aroma now combined with the scent of the dampness between my legs forcing itself up through my dress and into my nostrils. Oh my god, if it was strong enough for me to catch a whiff, then what if he could....

My eyes darted up, and there it was again - that tickle of a smile at his mouth, his blue eyes now dark and dangerous, electric with the knowledge of my desire. I've no idea why i said what i did next. “Is there anything you need before I see you in?”

What was I doing???? What was I saying??? Literally within 5 minutes of meeting this man, i was vaguely propositioning him in the hallway of my office as if it was some sort of high-end brothel and I was the wanton whore assigned to service him.

“I’ll let you know,” he replied. It wasn't just a casual response. It was a promise. One made with a penetrating stare that impaled me to the hilt the way i suddenly wanted his cock to.

As i pivoted on my heel towards Steven's office, the back of my hand whispered against the expensive fabric of Laing's trousers, and I felt the growing evidence of his arousal, heard it on the eruption of a soft groan he cleverly concealed by clearing his throat. My hands trembled slightly as I grasped the knob of Steven's door, sweeping it wide open as I stepped aside to let Laing pass through. Stephen was already on his feet, coming around his desk, thanking me as he went to offer Laing his hand. I was more than happy to close the door behind me as I walked out. Unsure of my own ability to put one foot in front of the other, my legs suddenly as sturdy as two wet noodles, I paused for a moment, my hand still clutching the knob behind me as leaned back, resting my desire-stricken weight against the heavy wood. Without warning, the remembered lyrics of a Fiona Apple song sprung to mind: "...save me from these evil deeds before I get them done...."

Lifting my eyes to the ceiling, I released a long, shuddering breath over a certainty that gripped me in its clutches like a vise -- Robert Laing was going to ruin me. And i was going to let him.


End file.
